I like to write junk...

BOSS

“The last time someone called me ‘Boss’ was when a young fellow at the McDonald’s drive-thru did so last week.”

Inmate in green prison uniform walking with handcuffs and leg shackles escorted by officer in prison corridor — Dead man walking

On rare occasions, perhaps once a year, someone refers to me as “Boss,” and it’s generally a younger person. I don’t mind the name, but it always makes me think of a movie I watched starring actors Tom Hanks, Michael Clarke Duncan, and Doug Hutchison. This film was called “The Green Mile.“

In that movie, John Coffey (Michael Clarke Duncan), a black prisoner wrongly imprisoned for the murder of two children, is befriended by prison guard and supervisor, Paul Edgcomb (Tom Hanks). Prisoner John Coffey refers to Edgcomb as “Boss” in a respectful manner, much like workers address their employers.

John Coffey has inherited supernatural and healing powers, with the movie script focusing on John’s ability to know and do things no human is capable of. At the time of his death by electrocution, those powers are passed on to Tom Edgcomb and a small mouse named “Mr. Bojangles.”

Dead Man Walking is sadistically sung out by prison guard Percy Witmore (Doug Hutchison) each time a prisoner on ‘death row’ comes walking down the hall. To the disgust of his fellow guards, Percy does this with a sinister smile on his face. John Coffey was one of those death row prisoners mocked.

The phrase ‘dead man walking’ is an idiomatic expression that originally referred to a person on death row who is walking toward their execution. Over time, it has come to describe someone in a hopeless or doomed situation. There is an answer for such, and his name is Jesus Christ.

The last time someone called me “Boss” was when a young fellow at the McDonald’s drive-thru did so last week. Handing me my bag of food, he politely said, “Have a good day,” before sliding the glass window shut.

Without opening the bag, I sensed that something was wrong. The order was supposed to consist of two orders of Chicken McNuggets along with some barbecue and ranch dipping sauces. Opening the sack, Joleen told me we only had barbecue, which was okay with me but not with her. I then had to tap on the glass and ask the guy for ranch.

Thinking back to being called “Boss,” and my premonition that something was wrong with the order, John Coffey’s powers entered my mind. “The Green Mile” had left a lasting impression on me and perhaps something even more extraordinary: the ability to see inside a paper sack without opening it, much like Superman.

Silently chuckling at my thoughts, my wife carefully reviewed the receipt, as she always does. Coming to the part where the dipping sauce was printed out, Joleen informed me, “You didn’t order ranch. It only says barbecue.“

I was sure I’d mentioned ranch when talking to the employee via intercom, but Joleen insisted I hadn’t. Mistakes happen quite often with our orders, usually because I can’t clearly hear the order taker’s questions. I suppose that’s a big problem for drive-thru clerks, especially when they must deal with the hard-of-hearing octogenarian crowd.

I now must wonder if that fellow who last called me “Boss” also didn’t sarcastically mutter under his breath, “Deaf Man Driving.” Perhaps behind that sliding glass window, employees are always singing it!

Elderly man in car ordering at McDonald's drive-thru speaker — Deaf man driving.

FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH

“That might’ve started an argument, as this gruff guy appeared to have a short fuse.”

The phrase “for what it’s worth” is an expression people use when offering an opinion, suggestion, or piece of information, often to indicate that the speaker is not sure how valuable or significant their contribution will be.

It’s a way of being modest or cautious about the importance or impact of what’s being shared. For example, someone might say, “For what it’s worth, I think you did a great job,” meaning they hope their opinion is helpful, even if it may not change the situation.

On the other hand, “for what it’s worth” can be used in an offensive manner without the speaker realizing it. The other day, at a car show, a fellow walked up to me and said, “For what it’s worth, I’d spray some type of clear over your old truck to keep it from further rusting.”

After he finished his remark, I wanted to say, but politely didn’t, “For what it’s worth, I’m not open to suggestions!” That might’ve started an argument, as this gruff guy appeared to have a short fuse.

He rambled on, telling me that clearcoat was the only way to fly if he owned the vehicle. I was very cordial, having been told this countless times over the past 8 years. I ended the conversation by saying that the next person to own the truck could pay for such, but not me.

I love rust, believing it’s the color of choice amongst the rat rod crowd. Young people like it as well. Several catchy slogans go along with the name, such as “In rust we trust!” Rust in peace!” “Rust my soul!” and “Babe, you can rust me!” On a side note regarding this subject, I like to inform the automotive gearheads that paint is overrated, just to catch them off guard.

For grins, I spent several days after the show looking for opportunities to use “for what it’s worth” offensively, saying it in my head and not verbally. A weight-challenged woman in a grocery store, looking as if she’d been poured into stretch pants, was my first victim.

“For what it’s worth, ma’am, that outfit reminds me of Spam in a can!”

A fellow was walking around Walmart in a sleeveless shirt with both arms not at his sides, something Arnold Schwarzenegger would have to do. Not knowing the guy’s real name, I automatically gave him one for my project.

“For what it’s worth, Russell, a muscle shirt’s designed for guys actually having muscles!”

A college student at Rotary Park was evidently trying to bring back a hairstyle that’s been gone for at least 45 years.

“For what it’s worth, dude, the mullet died in ‘82.”

One day later, a nice-looking girl, another college student, was attempting to walk with an inebriated fellow who appeared to be a boneless chicken when it came to balance.

“For what it’s worth, miss, this one you should ditch!”

My last subject was around the same age as me. He rolled up next to us at a stoplight in a newer Chevy truck with California plates. The guy had been driving like a maniac, jumping in and out of lanes on 95, almost causing a wreck.

Looking at him, the man mouthed some gibberish that I couldn’t understand. I can still see those stained, unsightly teeth. That Friday afternoon, I finally let go, verbally, of my thoughts.

“For what it’s worth, boss, did you forget to floss?”

Hearing my comment, he stopped mouthing off, quickly put his window back up, and sped away. My “for what it’s worth” must’ve stung him as much, as that fellow saying I needed to clearcoat my rust.

Elderly man smiling inside vintage blue truck wearing plaid shirt and cap

GREASY SPOON DINER

“Having heard people call it Greasy Spoon, the first time I went to Fork & Spoon as a teenager, I looked closely at my silverware, expecting to find just that.”

I have fond memories of four restaurants from my time living in Anchorage, Alaska. Three of them are still in operation, while one is no longer. That fourth, I dined there explicitly for one reason. I’ll get to that at the end of this spiel.

The White Spot Café has been a beloved Anchorage institution for decades, known for its welcoming atmosphere and famous halibut sandwich. Established in the 1950s by Lenora Weaver, the café quickly became a local favorite, serving classic diner fare and providing a gathering place for residents and visitors alike.

Its central location in downtown Anchorage made it a convenient spot for city workers, tourists, and families looking for a hearty meal. The name is quite unusual, but that doesn’t seem to bother those looking for good food.

Over the years, the White Spot Café has maintained its vintage charm, even as the surrounding city has grown and changed. The café’s history is intertwined with Anchorage’s own development, reflecting the community’s resilience and spirit. Generations of Alaskans have fond memories of meals shared at the White Spot, making it a landmark that continues to play an important role in the city’s cultural landscape.

Another beloved Anchorage eatery is the Arctic Roadrunner, which has carved out its own place in the city’s history. Founded in the late 1960s by Richard “Dick” Sanchis, Arctic Roadrunner quickly became famous for its classic burgers and a casual, friendly atmosphere.

Located along the banks of Campbell Creek, this burger joint has served generations of Alaskans, offering a nostalgic dining experience with its retro décor and handwritten menu boards.

Much like the White Spot Café, Arctic Roadrunner has remained a community favorite by staying true to its roots. Locals and visitors alike are drawn to its simple, hearty food and the tradition of signing their names on the walls via photographs.

The restaurant’s longevity and character have made it a landmark in Anchorage, celebrated for its role in bringing people together over great food and genuine hospitality. The “Lord Baranof” burger was my favorite. There’s a street in Anchorage by that same name.

Leroy’s Pancake House holds a special place in Anchorage’s culinary history. Established in the early 1970s by Leroy Plaster, Leroy’s quickly became renowned for its hearty breakfasts and warm, welcoming service.

The restaurant was a favorite among locals, especially for its signature pancakes and traditional American breakfast fare. Its convenient location and relaxed atmosphere made it a popular spot for families, travelers, and city workers looking to start their day with a satisfying meal.

My favorite breakfast item was “Pigs in a Blanket.” This consisted of sausage links rolled up into pancakes. I made sure to order it in a quiet voice if any APD officers were sitting at a nearby table, which did happen on one occasion.

Leroy’s Pancake House has thrived for decades, serving generations of Anchorage residents and visitors. Many fondly recall the bustling mornings, friendly staff, and comforting food that defined Leroy’s experience, marking it as a cherished chapter in Anchorage’s restaurant history. Radio celebrity Herb Shandlin could often be found there at all hours.

Fork & Spoon café, affectionately known to many locals as the Greasy Spoon, held a unique place in Anchorage’s dining scene. Established in the mid-20th century by Richard “Dick” Dickens, this humble eatery was housed in a timeworn building at the corner of Tudor Road and the Old Seward Highway.

The café became a favorite haunt for early risers, late-night crowds, truckers, and anyone seeking hearty, no-frills comfort food. Its atmosphere was unpretentious and welcoming, with a menu that featured classic American diner staples served with generous portions and a side of local character.

Throughout its years of operation, Fork & Spoon fostered a loyal following among Anchorage residents and travelers alike. It was known for its friendly staff and the sense of camaraderie among regulars, many of whom considered the café a second home.

Despite its popularity and cherished place in the community, Fork & Spoon eventually closed its doors, making way for a car dealership that now occupies the site. The memories of shared meals, laughter, and Anchorage spirit live on in those who once gathered there.

Having heard people call it Greasy Spoon, the first time I went to Fork & Spoon as a teenager, I looked closely at my silverware, expecting to find just that. My spoon was just as clean as those at home. It wasn’t until later that I discovered what the term “greasy spoon” actually means.

The term “greasy spoon” is a colloquial expression used to describe a small, inexpensive diner or café known for serving simple, hearty meals—often classic American comfort food—sometimes with a reputation for less-than-pristine surroundings or oily cuisine.

Despite the name, greasy spoon diners are celebrated for their unpretentious atmosphere, affordable prices, and welcoming staff, making them beloved local gathering spots for everyday people.

The phrase doesn’t literally refer to greasy utensils but rather evokes the image of a place where the food is filling, the service is friendly, and the ambiance is casual and genuine. Fork and Spoon in Anchorage was just that, a great place to eat for those on a budget like me.

SLOW & STEADY

“Bicycling is something I was good at, and I still ride, but I learned early on that being the fastest doesn’t always pay dividends in the end.”

Turtle crossing finish line with red ribbon and small trophy — Tortoise and the Hare

I’ve never been the fastest at anything other than perhaps eating and reading. Mom was constantly telling me to slow down at meals and chew my food. My wife offered up a serious warning with her lecture. “You’ll choke someday. That’s how Janis Joplin died!” I believe she meant Mama Cass Elliot, but I wasn’t going to correct her.

As for my reading, no one has ever complained. I’ve been a fast reader since the earliest days, with SRA (Science Research Associates) labs in elementary school, fine-tuning my ability. No classmate was quicker, and even with weakening eyes, I’m still a whiz. No brag, just fact!

The phrase “slow and steady” comes from the classic fable of the rabbit and the hare. In this story, the hare is fast and confident, but he becomes overconfident and takes a nap during the race.

The turtle, moving slowly but steadily, never stops and eventually wins the race. The lesson is that consistent effort and patience often lead to success, even if progress seems slow at times.

Other examples include a student who spends little time studying every day instead of cramming at the last minute, who is likely to perform better on exams. Similarly, someone saving a small amount of money each month will eventually build up substantial savings, demonstrating that perseverance often outweighs speed.

Bicycling is something I was good at, and I still ride, but I learned early on that being the fastest doesn’t always pay off. My knees and hips can still function well without needing replacements; this is partly because I didn’t push my torso beyond its limits. I give the bulk of the credit here to Jesus Christ for helping keep me in good health.

Now that I’m an older homosapien male, I have nothing to prove, other than I can still move forward without the assistance of an electric motor. Hopefully, that day never arrives. If it does, I’ll want 36 volts. Horsepower is still king, even on senior-citizen mobility scooters.

Driving around town, I notice lots of potential hares tailgating and trying to push me up the road. If the speed limit says 35, that’s where you’ll find my truck speedometer pegged. Being retired, I’m in no hurry to get anywhere, as those days are long gone.

Walking is the same. No longer do I scurry about a grocery store in a tizzy, burning up calories. Younger folks behind me will just have to safely pass when the opportunity arises. “ Walk and smell the roses” is my motto, although around Havasu it’s more like inhaling mesquite and paloverde pollen while popping Allegra tablets.

Joleen says that I oftentimes don’t walk a straight line in stores or while hiking numerous trails in Rotary Park. I’ve noticed that myself, blaming it on my shoes or deteriorating asphalt, neither of which is the problem.

It appears that my slow and steady gait is turning to slow and unsteady, a problem that many seniors have. Despite this, if I keep each foot moving forward, all is good. Slow and unsteady still beats not moving at all.

I’ll end this with a bit of humorous wisdom that a coworker gave me years ago. I was around 30 at the time, while Martin Allen was in his 70s. Martin grew up in Arizona, where he worked in the copper mines of Bisbee before moving to Alaska. Some of his words have been changed to make it acceptable to all readers, although some might still be offended.

“Two bulls were standing on a hill looking down upon a group of heifers. The youngest bull, full of testosterone, snorted and boldly proclaimed, “I’m gonna run down there and make love to one of them bovines.”

The older bull, chewing on a blade of grass, shook his head in disagreement before replying. “Not me, I’ll walk down there and make love to them all!”

I suppose only a few got the hidden message. As a young man, it took a moment to fully understand what Martin was trying to say. After it sunk in, with me being a rookie mechanic, his lesson was on the same level as Albert Einstein, at least to my brain it was.

I’ve never forgotten Martin Allen, often putting his wisdom to good use in other areas of life. Before closing, I took a popular John Deere advertisement regarding their lawnmowers and twisted it to fit this story.

“It’s not how slow you mow – it’s how well you mow slow!”

Two large bulls on a rocky hill with a herd of cattle grazing below on grass — Slow and steady has powerful meaning

FORT MCCLELLAN, ALABAMA – 1942

Fort McClellan’s origins trace back to 1917, when it was established as Camp McClellan in response to the United States’ entry into World War I. The camp was named in honor of Major General George B. McClellan, a prominent Union Army leader during the American Civil War.

Initially, it served as a training ground for National Guard units, rapidly growing to accommodate the influx of soldiers preparing for overseas service.

Fort McClellan is located near the city of Anniston in northeastern Alabama, United States. During World War II, Fort McClellan served as a major training center for the United States Army. It was primarily used for the training of infantry and military police units, as well as hosting specialized schools such as the Chemical Warfare Service.

The fort played a significant role in preparing troops for deployment overseas and contributed to the overall war effort by supporting the rapid expansion and mobilization of U.S. forces.

On December 7, 1942, Pfc. James T. Moran sent a picture postcard purchased from the Past Exchange at Fort McClellan to a former teacher, Mr. Charles Bicknell at 39 Elliott Street in Meriden, Connecticut. This was exactly one year after Pearl Harbor was bombed. On front of the postcard is a photo of soldiers undergoing weapons training.

The card simply reads:

“Hello Charlie,

Things are different to say the least. I’m here with a Boston crowd – 6 week course – after that on to another camp – so they tell us.

Jim”

Private James Moran successfully made it through the war, going on to work for AT&T as a mechanic before retiring in Port Charlotte, Florida. Born on February 20, 1923, he passed away at the age of 80 on December 16, 2003.

Charles Roscoe Bicknell was born April 3, 1901. He worked as an instructor at a trade school for many years before retiring and moving to Florida. He died there on October 24, 1991, at the age of 90.

Unlike many of the WWII cards I’ve come across, this one had a relatively happy ending for both the sender and card recipient.

TOMBSTONE CHIT CHAT

“I was interested in finding the first person buried there and a bit of history about that individual.”

Opened in the early 1970s, Lake Havasu Memorial Gardens in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, serves as a final resting place for the remains and cremains of many residents and visitors. According to Findagrave.com, the cemetery is home to 4,945 gravesites, along with a couple of mausoleums and several columbaria.

The gardens were created to provide a peaceful and dignified environment for families to honor and remember loved ones. Over the years, the site has evolved to include landscaped grounds, memorial markers, and spaces dedicated to reflection and remembrance.

As Lake Havasu City grew, the memorial gardens became an integral part of the community, hosting ceremonies and offering support to those in mourning. Its history reflects the city’s commitment to preserving memories and honoring lives within a tranquil desert setting.

I was interested in finding the first person buried there and a bit of history about that individual. It appears that Karl Joseph Baunach is number one. Karl, born in Germany on March 11, 1898, married Theresia Schmitz in 1948.

The couple had two children, Erika and Eric. Their father died in Lake Havasu City on April 13, 1970. Theresia died in 1995, some 25 years after him. She is buried in Lake Havasu Memorial Gardens, along with their son.

Sgt. Eric Baunach served with the US Army in Vietnam, later becoming an archaeologist in Arizona and Oregon and owning his own construction company. His sister Erika Baunach-Hinkel died in 2025. She’s buried in Oregon.

I tried to find out what brought the Baunachs to Lake Havasu City, with a 1956 ship manifest showing him as a shoemaker. That’s the year this family came to America, ultimately landing at Ellis Island. It seems unlikely that a shoemaker would be needed in our fledgling town at such an early period.

Karl was 72 when he passed away, so working in construction also seems unlikely, though some would argue otherwise. My guess is that he was one of the early realtors. If someone knows for sure, they can email me.

Undoubtedly, there’s so much more to be told about Karl Baunach, yet I was only privy to information available through archived newspaper articles, Ancestry.com, and Findagrave.com. Karl’s grandchildren might know some of the history, but the truth is, most young people have little interest in such.

Without question, there are other interesting people buried in Lake Havasu Gardens, and as time allows, I’ll research and release more findings. A graveyard to me is like an open book.

What unique and nonstop stories these tombstones would tell if only they could talk. It’s up to writers like me to create the historical chit chat for them.

HOCUS POCUS

“Repeating bogus information is not much different than what viewers of CNN and MSNBC do these days.”

A man in worn clothes and a woman in a black dress holding hands and smiling.

With the world in a tizzy, especially in the Middle East, it got me wondering where the term or phrase, “All is fair in love and war,” came from. According to Democratic leftist doves, as they were called during the Vietnam War, a war-mongering Republican would be the culprit. I found that not to be true and merely political rhetoric.

The phrase “all is fair in love and war” is believed to have originated from the English author John Lyly’s novel “Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit,” published in 1578. This expression suggests that in matters of love and war, people are not bound by the usual rules of conduct or fairness.

It implies that any action, however unconventional or morally questionable, is justified if it helps achieve one’s goals in these two realms. Mainstream media would have President Donald Trump using these tactics regarding Iran, although that isn’t totally the case. It’s more like Iran using such against us and Israel by launching deadly missiles from populated neighborhoods.

In common usage, the term is often quoted to excuse behavior that might otherwise be considered inappropriate or underhanded, emphasizing the intense emotions and high stakes involved in both love and conflict.

Author John Lyly is best known for his innovative literary style rather than for his political or philosophical views. There is limited evidence regarding Lyly’s personal ideology, and he is primarily recognized for his role in shaping English prose and drama during the Elizabethan era. He was also a very witty character.

While his works reflect the culture and values of his time, it would be inaccurate to label him strictly as a liberal or conservative by modern standards, since those terms did not exist in the same context during the late 16th century.

When I think of “all is fair in love,” I think back to my workdays when a fellow basically stole his best friend’s wife. I didn’t see the act as fair, and neither did anyone else, including the children of both married couples. Sadly, this happens all the time in Hollywood and is oftentimes condoned by the liberal secular crowd.

What I’ve observed with love more than anything is how stupid it can make a person. In the case of these two cheaters, they thought they were in love and had found their perfect soulmates. They stayed together for two years before going their separate ways. By then, two families had been wrecked beyond repair. Their impromptu love relationship turned out to be a lust relationship.

John Lyly must not have been talking about fairness in love in this same sense because he stayed with his wife regardless of his literary success. Perhaps John’s wit and humor are what held them together through thick and thin.

Early on, he had a distinct advantage over other suitors in his courtship because of this. That’s my humble opinion. How a cheerful woman or man connects with a humorless, dour partner is a question seemingly answered by the phrase “opposites attract.”

The phrase “opposites attract” is commonly used to describe the idea that people with different personalities or characteristics are drawn to each other, especially in romantic relationships.

Socialist and accomplished writer Robert Francis Winch is credited with the concept, which began in the early 1950s. It is rooted in the theory that complementary differences can create balance and intrigue in partnerships, and it was further popularized by songs, movies, and literature.

There’s no definite proof that opposites attract and that all’s fair in love and war. From my viewpoint, these are just opinions two writers expressed, and after people read their analogy, they began to repeat things as if they were the truth.

In today’s electronic world, it’s called going viral. Repeating bogus information is not much different than what viewers of CNN and MSNBC do these days. I guess the same could be said for CBS watchers.

Detective Harry Callahan (Clint Eastwood) had a saying regarding unsubstantiated statements. “Opinions are like assholes. Everyone has one!”

I tend to believe fictitious Detective Callahan’s take on things over those of John Lyly and Robert Winch. Harry has what’s called street smarts, a subject that, unfortunately, is not taught in today’s colleges.

Man in tweed jacket with a gun in shoulder holster and cigarette on a city street with police cars — Detective Harry Callahan

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

“April the ninth. It’s here at last.”

Another birthday. Seventy-two. Boston cream pie. Still able to chew.

*******

Places to drive. Stuff yet to do. In my tee-shirt. New Nike shoes.

*******

Ozempic shots. Eliquis pills. Makes my blood thin. Hands easily chilled.

*******

Seventy-two. Years on this earth. Pen-sa-cola. My place of birth.

*******

April the ninth. It’s here at last. Mexican dinner. No time to fast.

*******

I’m so blessed. Made it through life. Drove hot rod cars. A wonderful wife.

*******

Mike’s still kickin’. Great to be here. Others now gone. Sadness and tears.

*******

I’d love to see. Another one. Birthday, that is. With bright orange sun.

*******

Seventy-three. Scheduled next year. Will I be ’round? Gods in charge here!

"So thankful for another one..." — AI generated

STILL KICKIN’

“If you see a similarity, it’s probably you…”

After hundreds of crazy and oftentimes inflammatory Facebook posts, perhaps a couple of thousand over 20 years, I wanted the last post to be totally special. To me, this is like retirement all over again.

For this final project, my new and improved AI (artificial intelligence) photo generator asked for early ‘facial only’ images of 12 friends, with the 12th being me. Twelve bodies were all that would fit on the merry-go-round.

This was a tough assignment, yet I succeeded by snipping and copying school yearbooks and classroom photographs. No names or personal information was supplied.

AI somehow aged these people to make them appear in their 70s, as if that was hard to do. We all look pretty much the same at that stage. If you see a similarity, it’s probably you, but my lips are sealed on exactly whose mugs were submitted.

I’m extremely happy with the outcome, especially with my early-Alaska-pioneer resemblance. That leather jacket is striking. I was so impressed that I ordered an 8×10 print for the office. That’s a first for me in framing something created entirely by a computer program.

From this day forward, many of my biking, hiking, Jeep adventures, and car show experiences will be permanently housed on the following website: www.michael-hankins.com.

That site and the associated email section are monitored daily, unlike fb. The latest goal is to start producing drone videos of mysterious areas that are unreachable by foot, car, or plane, and to preview them on YouTube. Arizona is full of such inaccessible places.

I’m still kickin’, but I’d much rather use my rapidly diminishing time to create entertaining videos watched by many, rather than continue posting redundant info, stories, humorous memes, and photos seen by a few on fb. Nevertheless, I’ll still write for my blog and various periodicals, especially “The Today’s News-Herald.”

YouTube seems to be growing, while Facebook continues to suffer from declining group participation. Always one to take an unknown path, new adventures and discoveries hopefully await me around the bend. The ability for drones to scour the desert for treasures has great possibilities. “I’m very excited” is more than an understatement here. 😊

EMULATION EXPERT?

“I read Kiyosaki’s book several years ago and learned that I’d adopted a bit of his savviness going back to elementary school.”

Three children in helmets race go-karts on a dusty dirt track. — Anything goes…

Rich Dad, Poor Dad is a best-selling personal finance book written by Robert T. Kiyosaki. The book contrasts the financial philosophies and habits of two father figures in the author’s life—his biological “Poor Dad” and his mentor “Rich Dad.”

Through practical lessons and anecdotes, Kiyosaki emphasizes the importance of financial education, investing, and building assets as keys to wealth. He advocates for thinking differently about money and encourages readers to pursue financial independence by developing skills that aren’t traditionally taught in school.

I read Kiyosaki’s book several years ago and learned that I’d adopted a bit of his savvy since elementary school. Robert Kiyosaki repeatedly emphasizes that the best way to succeed is to emulate those already successful. I put that wisdom to work for me early on in fourth grade as a copycat.

Larelia Sadler sat in front of me, and she always scored high in written tests, especially math, where I was mathematically challenged. I learned that I could emulate her As and Bs by simply copying the answers I didn’t know. It was more about survival for me than anything else, because no kid wants a bad grade.

In car racing, this is known as cheating, with winning only invalidated if a racer’s caught. The late Dale Earnhardt Sr. was a professional at this trick, along with many others, such as A.J. Foyt. The list of those caught with their hand in the cookie jar is miles long. These guys were always trying to copy someone else’s speed secrets, or someone was trying to steal theirs.

Cheating in car racing is quite common, often taking the form of bending or breaking rules for a competitive advantage. Teams may use illegal modifications, hidden technology, or even subtle adjustments that go unnoticed to gain an edge.

In many cases, the thrill of competition and the stakes involved lead participants to push the boundaries of what’s allowed, making enforcement and detection an ongoing challenge for racing officials. Teachers in schools have the same problem, especially now that the digital age is upon us.

I was never caught, but unfortunately, a classmate sitting behind me in fifth or sixth grade came up short in the “emulation meltdown.” On that day, he thought I was getting all the right answers, but unfortunately, the person in front of me was also a low achiever. All three of us flunked.

In Junior high. I stopped copying when the risk of a swat or a trip to the principal’s office made the act a bit more painful, along with the embarrassment of others finding out, especially parents. That still didn’t stop some guys. I suppose they eventually ended up in prison or elected office.

I did use Robert Kiyosaki’s advice in an intended way when it comes to real estate, and it paid off for retirement. The $9.95 or so I forked out for his book back then was money well spent. This emulation or copycat expertise also helped me come in first place in a go-kart race with friends.

At a small dirt track in Anchorage, Alaska, I observed a teenage employee reach back and disable the engine governor while driving, letting his machine speed around paying customers. Copying this little trick, I cheated and easily won that race before being barred from the track.

Something tells me that Dale Earnhardt Sr. and A.J. Foyt never had that problem. Perhaps their arms were longer than mine, and they didn’t have to completely turn their heads around, which is a dead giveaway!

A schoolboy leaning over to look at a classmate's notebook in a sunlit classroom. — Emulating